


Unbound

by Wordsyoucantaste



Category: DCU, DCU (Comics), Red Hood and the Outlaws (Comics)
Genre: Bat Family, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Gen, M/M, Plot With Porn, Protective Dick, Protective Jason, Roy has found a home with the Waynes, Timkon, slave AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-15
Updated: 2016-08-30
Packaged: 2018-07-24 04:12:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 11,534
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7493382
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wordsyoucantaste/pseuds/Wordsyoucantaste
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Slave AU. Roy has been given to Bruce Wayne, a fact that he's grown to love. Because at Wayne Manor, Roy has his own room, his own privacy, and no one hurts him. Yet, Bruce isn't sure just what to do with the boy. It's not like he can turn him away, and while he has no interest in enslaving a life, he can't act as though he's disgusted by the idea of keeping a human as an object of possession; Because Bruce has a secret to keep, and if he's to convince the red headed boy that he is nothing more than Billionaire Brucie, he has to keep up with the act.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> inspired by Ayita35730's "Random Bat Family and Roy Harper Prompts" (#3). There will be several chapters, I promise, this most definitely isn't a one-shot.  
> Read more notes at the bottom for future content warning.
> 
> UPDATE: I've edited this chapter a little bit. more notes on why at the bottom.

The air was clean, cleaner than he had expected. It was perfumed even and he wondered if maybe it had something to do with all the people that he saw as some sort of nobility and their disinterest in anything that could be considered a flaw among their potential purchases, smell included. He hadn't thought about it before, but he wondered if the scent in the air was something that all rich folk were used to, not the earthy and neutral state that he had found himself in, like so many others like him in this room. He wondered if they all smelled like roses and fresh laundry and sugar. 

Shivering, though not unaccustomed to the conditions of the room that was air conditioned, he really wished they would have left more to the imagination as far as what his owners thought appropriate to dress him in. Perhaps it was their intent, to make him stand out against the crowd of people dressed in sleek tuxes and elegant gowns. The thin muslin pants and matching tunic covered him, the off-white color stark against any group of potential buyers, but the weight of the material did nothing to stop the shivers; he just had to be under a vent with a horrible draft.

All the same, he stood still, let the soft diamond clad fingers run through his thick reddened hair, didn't flinch when large hands would shove him around, tugging and pulling on limbs to further examine him. He knew if he behaved, he could potentially go to a good home. Where someone might treat him well, might feed him and maybe even grow to care for him. In his heart of hearts, he seethed at the idea of being someone's pet. But if he were to be completely honest, he hoped that a new owner would have a heart of gold and make him feel warm in his station. Either way, even if tonight wasn't his night, if he didn't catch any bites so to speak, the best he could do was do his best and pray that the slavers wouldn't hurt him too much for being a financial disappointment.

An obscenely large hand cupped his face, the thumb and forefinger pushing his lips out, his skin against the bones of his jaw and forced his head back. "He's absolutely stunning." Cause he hadn't heard that one before. "Is he...?" The man, who wreaked of fine bourbon and cheap cigars, trailed off, not letting his cold eyes leave Roy's body. It made Roy shiver again, this time, with discomfort. He knew exactly what the man was wondering about. And he prayed to god that his price tag would be high enough to push the potential buyer away.

"Yes, Sir. He is untouched." Untouched. What a way to put it. Untouched perhaps a few years ago. They're idea of untouched was far different from what he percieved as chastity. Even his skin, now covered with way too much makeup, was littered with bruises and tender spots. Ones that he could feel until he got his medicine every morning. The medicine that was starting to wear off now. Slowly. Surely. He was becoming self aware of his body and the way the Seller looked at him made his blood boil. Untouched. His body, his mind, even his spirit, weren't untouched. They were invaded. Abused. And put on display for all the rich and famous to fawn over like a helpless cute little animal. It was this kind of thinking though that earned Roy's collection of injuries. He wasn't one to speak up, knowing full well what the consequences were, but every now and then, Roy simply would just say something, and it would be the right time, the right day and to the right person. They'd never touch his face though. They kept him as pristine looking as possible. Lucky for him.

"Hmm." The large man hummed, turning away with complete disinterest. Roy decided to not let out a sigh of relief.

To his left, he could see the others. Same to his right. It was an auction of sorts, except it was for entertainment purposes. Some charity event, he had been told. The market was just to amuse the fat cats who wanted to play. The profits didn't go towards a good cause, just stuffed into the slaver's pockets. It was like an all you can eat buffet, and Roy was starting to feel like the desert bar. He couldn't help but think if any of them, those who found themselves in his same place, if they had been captured like he was. Or if they were born into it, or perhaps even sold to pay off a debt. It was the one thing that intrigued him, learning everyone's stories. Reality struck him hard when he figured that if he were bought tonight, he'd never hear more of them. Well, perhaps he would, but not like before; not like when people came in and out of the harbor, trading stories and gossip and secrets. No, he'd be confined to one household, with a set number of people. It'd be exciting at first, but then what? The prospect of losing that drove him crazy; it was his only coping mechanism. He liked people. He liked making people smile, especially when it seemed like there was no hope left in their world.

Before him now stood a tall blonde. Her curls hung down around her face, the back of her dress missing completely as fabric draped low around her waist, tied up in the front around the length of her collar bones and behind the nape of her neck. She smelled like oranges and she smiled like an angel. She brought her hand up slowly, pausing momentarily. "May I?"

"Of course, Ma'am."

She darted her head to the side, looking at the slaver behind him, and narrowed her eyes. "I wasn't talking to you." Roy's cheeks flared with blush, his teeth grabbing the edge of his bottom lip as he bit it nervously. He began to pray that this wouldn't earn him punishment later. She turned her sweet brown eyes back to him and smiled. Roy nodded, knowing that he was forbidden to speak, but let relief wash over him as she placed her hand against his cheek. Pushing up and back, she brushed his hair out of his face, twisting and playing with it as she tucked the locks behind his ear. She let her hand fall then, pausing to run her thumb over the swell of his lips before she caught his chin and titled his head up so that she may look into his eyes. "Goodness, you've got beautiful eyes." He wanted to say thank you. Wanted to tell her that he liked that, that her soft finger tips on his skin made him feel good. But he couldn't. Instead, he blinked slowly before lowering his gaze again. "You've got quite a price tag too." He began to pray now that she was incredibly rich and had tons of money to blow. "I'll bet-" She grabbed his hand, held it up slowly as she flipped it before pressing her red stained lips against the curve of his palm, "that you're worth every penny."

Behind him, he could hear the slaver agree all too anxiously. He was babbling now and the woman ignored him to the best of her judgement. She continued to walk around him, letting her cool hands slide across his shoulders, tracing his arms. He shivered again. "I'll take him."

"What?" The slaver said. Roy couldn't agree more. Was she out of her mind? No haggling? No price-talk downs?

"Did I stutter? I want him." It was like God has answered his prayers.

A check with far too many zeros on it, a hand shake and a few chains less later, Roy found himself following the young woman out of the room, her arm around the narrow of his waist. He wanted to talk to her. Wanted to thank her, wanted to worship her for being so kind to him, for being so good to him. But he kept his mouth shut like the good boy he was.

Standing now outside, the cold spring air hit his skin like a speeding freight train and he couldn't stop himself from hugging his body to keep warm. It was against protocol, he was not to move unless instructed otherwise. Rules were not laid out, he didn't have any freedoms and that last thing he'd want is to upset his new mistress like that, all because he was a little chilly. She noticed though, rather instantaneously, and laughed. "You poor thing, you must be freezing." She unwrapped the scarf that had once sat around her neck, unfolding it and draping it around his shoulders. It wasn't much, but it smelled like heaven and the thought of the deed alone was enough to warm him up a bit. "I can't have you too cold when I present you to Brucie."

The shivers stopped. The cold, the ache in his feet from standing on them for hours, the excitement of going home with the creature of ultimate beauty, it all stopped. He didn't say anything, but the confusion was a neon sign across his face.

A limousine pulled up and Roy followed the woman into the back. He would have noticed the fine dark leather on the seats, the lights that held a dimmed but beautiful blue shade, the champagne already on ice, with glasses on stand by; would have noticed all that if it weren't for the earth shattering realization that she was not to be his mistress. "Oh, little dear..." She cooed, pulling Roy back against her. "I'm sorry, I've let you believe that you were to be mine." He wanted to tell her how obvious that statement was. "I'm afraid I can't keep you. You see, you're a gift for a dear friend." Dear friend. Code word for another rich asshole. "You'll like him though. He's very kind, very honest. Has a house full of boys he's taken in over the years too." Great. Kids. Roy wondered if perhaps he'd just be a maid that doubled as eye candy, though the idea of someone buying him for his looks already is enough to confuse him, even after years of knowing that was his selling point. "We'll be there shortly, oh he'll be so pleased!" She delighted and Roy wanted to sulk some more. Instead, he lay still against the shoulder of a woman who wasn't much better than a slaver; she was a middle man. That's all. And Roy felt tricked.

The car pulled up soon enough to a very large mansion (not like he hasn't seen those before), but what surprised him was the age of the place; it was _old._ Much older than the other castles and estates he'd been to. Just on the landing of some steps that led to an oversized doorway, Roy saw an older man dressed sharply in a grey suit, his hair styled back, a mustache gracing his upper lip. Roy had seen some pretty well dressed men in his day, but this guy screamed class. He opened the door for the two of them, holding his hand out to the blonde to help her first. "When your manservant had called, I simply couldn't contain the excitement that was the news of your arrival, Miss Wellington."

"Alfred, you're too much." She kissed the man's cheek, heading up to the top of the stairs without Roy. "Be sure he's kept warm, they froze us to death in that gaudy ballroom!" She called back. Roy watched as the man lowered his head, looking directly into the car and finding Roy as far back as the boy could go.

"Now now, come here, I won't hurt you." Roy believed him, but all the same, fear took over him. He was at his new home, and he couldn't help but be absolutely terrified. It's not like this Brucie sought Roy out on his own. No, Roy was a _damn present._ And sometimes, rich brats don't always like their presents. And it's not like there's a return policy. Moving forward slowly, Roy crawled out of the car, ignoring the man's hand completely. The grovel beneath his bare feet irritated his skin, but he dismissed the sensation completely as a thick and warm blanket was wrapped around his shoulders. Roy turned his head to look at this man, this Alfred, and couldn't stop himself from smiling a little bit. "That's better, isn't it?"

Roy nodded, his own wordless thank you, before he followed the woman up the stairs and into the house. By the time the door was shut behind him, Roy had found himself nearly alone in the grand foyer. Above him hung a beautiful antique chandelier, framed perfectly in the center by a split wrap around staircase made of rich deep wood and he couldn't believe that, for the first time, he was impressed by a house. "Brucie!" The squeal of the woman echoed in the halls, making it difficult for Roy to even consider just what direction she had run off to. Turning to maybe ask Alfred, he felt an overwhelming sense of dread when the man wasn't there either. He had simply vanished, and anxiety took over Roy completely, freezing him where he stood.

Soon, the echoes of footsteps, the clicking of expensive heels and the thud of much heavier feet, sounded and Roy discovered that the woman had finally returned, this time with a man. A man, that Roy noticed, was impressively tall, with thick black hair and beautiful ice blue eyes. He knew this man. Had seen him in papers when he was practicing his reading. It was Brucie... Bruce Wayne. Roy belonged to the Waynes now. The mere idea of it was sickening, if only because it was just overwhelming. The man practically owned Gotham, practically influenced the majority of the states... and here he was now, looking Roy up and down. "Christina, really..."

"I saw him, and I just _knew_ he belonged with you!" She gushed, clinging to his arm. Roy could see that his worst fears were becoming realized as Bruce continued to seem displeased. "Just look at him!" She moved from his side to Roy's, fluffing up his hair and kissing his cheek, he could feel the stick of her lipstick on his skin. "Isn't he just perfection?"

"Sure, I guess, but you know I'm not really-"

"Oh you hush, Bruce Wayne!" She called out, earning a smile from him. It was a fake smile. Roy could tell. "I wanted to get you something special and so I did." She sauntered back to him while he continued to play nice. Wrapping his rather large arms around her tiny waist, Bruce held the woman close and kissed her in a way that made Roy blush. After what felt like minutes, they pulled apart as she tapped her finger on the tip of the larger man's nose, giggling softly. "I have to go, but I'll see you soon, yes?"

Bruce pushed his face in. The man was good, Roy had to give him that. "Of course, baby doll."

Roy watched their equally awkward goodbye, counting the seconds until the door was shut with her outside. That is, until it finally happened and he felt the weight of the unknown sit like the world on his shoulders. Behind him, he could feet Bruce Wayne staring at him from the door. The soft thuds of his footsteps, a large hand landing in between his shoulder blades with a gentle push and Roy was walking ahead of the man. He could hear the frustration in the man's breathing, could hear that Roy just was not _wanted_. He only hoped that the favorite Son of Gotham would show mercy and not take his frustrations out on him or his body. They began to climb the stairs though, and Roy marveled at how soft the runner rug was under his feet. That is, until he noticed just how incredible Bruce smelled. His theory was proven wrong. This man, who may have been considered the richest of them all, smelled like rain and lavender.

Coming to a stop at a doorway at the end of the hall (which hall, Roy couldn't be sure. There was simply too many to count), Bruce pushed the door open. "Here is where you'll stay." Roy's jaw dropped. It wasn't much compared to the rest of the manor, but there was a full bed with soft looking blankets all made up with matching pillows, there was a dresser on the wall opposite, another door to the extreme left and on the far end just by the window, a desk. "You'll have a full bathroom to yourself just there on the left, and..." Bruce trailed off when he noticed that Roy was sniffling.

Turning the boy, Bruce saw that Roy's eyes had welled up with tears. "Don't cry..." He held onto Roy's shoulders and smiled. Roy shook his head, rubbing away the stubborn tears with the blanket he still wore, feeling incredibly small.

"I apologize, Master." Roy let out weakly, following Bruce's implied instructions to step into the room where he now belonged.

"It's fine." Bruce leaned up against the wall, doing his best to not wince at his newly given title. "If you need anything, if you get hungry or thirsty, just speak with Alfred and he'll show you where to go and whatnot." Roy couldn't believe this.

"What hours may I-"

"Something you'll learn very quickly here..." Bruce started harshly, though softening his tone quickly as the boy shook like a leaf in winter. "You may ask Alfred for help, but this home is not structured around the schedule of slaves. For now, you serve no purpose here, so you may do as you wish within reason. I expect you'll keep to yourself, which I prefer in all honesty. But you may eat as you wish, sleep and wake as you'd like. I'll have Alfred bring up some medicine to help you sleep. Are you allergic to anything?" Allergic? This man cared about his allergies? He didn't have any though and shook his head in response, still stunned that his new Master would be so careful and concerned. "Very well. Try and get some sleep." And just like that, Bruce Wayne was gone, and Roy was left completely alone. again.

Pushing through despite the dysphoria of being in such an incredible room, he settled onto the bed, letting the weight of his body sink into the comforter. He couldn't process this, couldn't comprehend that this was his life now. He had no purpose here, no reason that Bruce would want him to stay, other than to satisfy the gorgeous blonde that seemed to adore him. Either way, Roy got a warm bed, a desk where he could read, his own bathroom even for crying out loud. He felt like a king, and tried not to let the guilt of his privilege over most other slaves ruin the moment. Flipping over and pushing his nose into the pillows, he smiled without any inhibitions or fear. He took in the scent, letting it wash over him as he picked up that traditional fresh laundry smell with a hint of lilac.

It wasn't cold here. No one was intent on beating him or selling him. No obvious false idolization and praise. And it didn't wreak of bourbon or sugar and roses.

A slow knock on the still opened door and Roy spun, ready to be at full attention to whoever would come through. Relaxing a bit more when he saw the older man known only as Alfred to him, he watched as the Butler put down a small tray of a glass of water and a small tablet. "For any nerves or ailments that might keep you awake. Master Bruce would prefer you be well rested for tomorrow." Tomorrow? Roy arched an eyebrow upward, only earning a slight shrug from Alfred. "I have no idea, young man." And just as Bruce Wayne had come and gone, so did Alfred. 

Left alone now with nothing but his thoughts and the soft howl of the wind outside, the pitter patter of rain cascading against his window... _his_ window. He couldn't believe this. Still couldn't imagine how...

pushing his face back into a pillow, he smiled, let the drowsiness of the night take over, let the sting of the beatings he endured this morning dull, let the lull of exhaustion push him to finally give in, and fall asleep. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> \--- I apologize for any weird format issues... I'm working on them at the moment and have already fixed a few, but in case I missed any, sorry!

When Bruce stumbled into the kitchen, there were some things that he could certainly expect. Early morning pushing and shoving from his two oldest, arguing over who deserved the last bowl of lucky charms. No doubt, Dick would win the fight, using his charm and wit to win over Jason, who's only advantage was the staggering height he nowpossessedover the youngAcrobat. Bruce still wondered if he should intervene, knowing full well that Jason would likely throw a fit now that Dick held the box in his hand behind his back, a cocky grin on his face. In addition to that, he also could usually expect some sort of remark thrown in hisdirection, either about how tired he looked, or some new scar he got from a patrol gone wrong. And it was likely that it would come from his youngest, who took to swinging his legs in a childlike manner from the counter he sat on top of, a cup of tea in his hand (Bruce had forbidden Damian to drink coffee after that one time Tim had given the boy a shot of espresso; the GCPD are still explaining to civilians why a wired Robin was playingrooftoptag at three in the morning). He braced himself, ready for Damian's little quip. Nothing sounded. At least not from his ill-tempered mini-me.  

"... Should I prepare something for our newest guest, Master Bruce?" Alfred's voice sounded and Bruce actually cringed, scrunching his face as thecommotionin the kitchen slowed to a stop.  

"Thanks for that Alfred..." Bruce reached over and grabbed the pot of coffee that was already made. Made, and partially empty. "Where's Tim?" Bruce looked at Alfred, who only shrugged before exiting the room completely. He suddenly realized that Alfred had done this on purpose, had fed him to the sharks, so to speak, and when Bruce turned to look at his audience, all he found were narrowed eyes ofagitatedRobins, bloodthirsty, as though he were the worm dropped into theirself-made miscritnest.  

"New guest?" Jason was the first to squeak out, crunching down on cereal; Bruce somehow missed Jason snagging the bowl Dick had prepared; his only clue being the distraught Dick who had taken his anger out on an apple.  

"They're upstairs, in the far bedroom to the left." Damian sipped on his tea, the warmth in his hands tinting his small nose pink. His toes curled in delight, and Bruce had to actively stop himself from fawning over the adorable waking habits his sonpossessed. There were only so many years he had to watch his son grow up, surely, no one could blame him, right? 

"Yeah..." Another voice sounded as Tim stumbled out of the nearby pantry, his hair an absolute mess as he donned a shirt that was large enough to cover the fact that he was only wearing his boxers underneath. Bruce wondered just how long ago he had fallen asleep, and decided that perhaps he wasn't in a position to really scold anyone for bad habits.Regardless, Bruce would be sure to inform Alfred that the teen was stillsurvivingon energy drinks and pop tarts, as indicated by the pink crumbs that Tim wiped from his shirt."Maybe Big B has had enough of your shit already..." Tim wiggled his eyebrows, knowing that he'd surely piss Damian off this time, and it worked. Damian glared that trademarked Wayne glare and muttered something in Arabic that made Jason snort into his cereal. 

"Not likely, he doesn't have black hair and blue eyes..." Dick let off with a small smile. Bruce rolled his eyes, finally taking a much needed sip from his coffee. Still, Brucefeltthe tension in the room and knew it stemmed from Damian's insecurity as his Robin, built off of years of the awkward polygamous relationship Batman had with finding new partners to work with. When he saw teal eyes glaze over with confusion, he half expected a genuine moment of fear toemanatefrom his son. What he got was something that followed the textbook definition of egotistical asshole. 

"Hard to upgrade when you're at the top of the line..." 

"Little prick..." Dick crunched into his apple. Jason only smiled.There simply wasn't enough coffee in the world to convince Bruce he should even consider reprimanding his first for cursing. 

"I like him." 

"You're both little pricks." Dick turned to give Jason the direct insult, but if Bruce had known any better, he'd say it was less of an insult and more of a declaration of love. It's how the two of them worked. And while he was worried at first, he remembered the first time he brought Jasonhome, all filthy and angry at the world; Dick had welcomed the slightly younger boy quickly, and their constant one-upping was a bonding technique for the two of them. Name calling,physicaltorture and torment, none of it faded when they began to reach closer to adulthood. It only intensified. In fact, the first time there was tension at home was when Bruce was forced to bring Tim on board when Jason had decided to follow in Big Brother's steps and "become his own man" and the ripe old age of 15. For someone who wanted to have his own identity, Jason Todd was not pleased in sharing the title of Robin with anyone other than Dick. And Tim had experienced the worst of the hazing from Jason, who had it in his mind that the younger boy needed to earn his domino. Yet, sure enough, as much as Bruce figured, the bullying stopped when Bruce found himself saddled with a ten year oldchild that looked too much like him to be coincidence,wieldingaswordlike a butter knife, far too full of himself for anyone to handle. Itseemedthat Jason and Tim's relationship grew stronger throughmutualconfusion over the hell that was the tiny ball of fury named Damian Wayne. Yet, as someone who enjoyed talking back to Bruce, Jason also had a natural inclination to love Damian, the only boy who has successfully called Bruce an asshole withoutrepercussions. Jason was proud, Dick was displeased and Tim always stood by, not shocked, not even caring.  

"God damn, can you guys wait until I'mhuman before being cute with me?" Bruce snipped, finishing off the coffee in his cup. "No, he's not another Robin, he has nothing to do with any of that, and in fact, whatI'mtrying to tell you is that I need him to not know anything." Bruce paused, not knowing just how he would say this. He looked at them, at each of their waiting eyes, wondering what they would come to conclude about the kind of man Bruce really was once they found out about the boy upstairs. Pushing a hand through his hair, he found that he began to stutter, looking for the right words; it was unbecoming and something Bruce tried to keep his kids from doing. "The boy is a slave." Silence. Tim, Damian and Dick were unmoved. Jason was looking at his feet; one down, three left. "Christina Wellington gave him to me." Damian rolled his eyes, Tim made a small "Mmhm". Dick was confused. Still listening, but confused. "She doesn't know that Idon't-" 

"Stop, please, you're making this weirder." Dickshookhis head, a mess of thick black hair falling in his face. "So,FloozyOf The Weekgave you a slave. Okay. Weird, but not unheard of when concerning people who think otherliving beingsare simply objects." Dick began to bite on his thumb, his brow knitted together. "My question is why the hell are you keeping him?" 

How was Bruce able to answer that? Surely, a simple "I feel bad" wouldn't suffice. They knew him better than that. And sure, while Bruce did pity him, he wasn't the kind of man to bring a stranger into his home, risk the identity and well being of his family, all because he felt bad about something. No, this was seeded into something much deeper. He wanted to blame it on doing the right thing, but he wasn't so sure that was entirely it either. He couldn't be sure why he thought this could work, why he thought that it would even remotely be a halfway decent idea.  

 

"Because you can't throw him out on the streets and very well expect him to survive." Jason let out slowly, his eyes not looking at anything at all for a moment before connecting with Bruce, who understood too quickly that Jason had known this all along. Brucefelta chill run down his spine, seeing the echo of Jason's childhood resonate in the newfound serenity of his teal eyes. He never thought about how much this would effect Jason, never even considered the idea that the boy might be sensitive to these kinds of things. After all, Jason spent the first half of his life sleeping on wet cobblestone pavement and running through playgroundsof drug cartels and brothels that lined Gotham's slave harbor. Bruce was sure that it must have crossed Jason's mind that had Batman not found him that night, soaked in the rain, rolling a tire that was nearly his size, perhaps Jason would have been in a similar fate as the boy who now lived with all of them. It sure as hell crossed Bruce's. He had thought about it, after one ugly fight that rightfully earned him the silenttreatmentfor weeks on end. He thought about how perhaps they'd all be better off without him. The thought was vicious at first, coming from angry sarcasm, but it turned quickly when Bruce realized that his boys had saved him more than he saved them. He shuddered to think what it would be like to lose them now.  

"Well, maybe not throw him on the street, but..." Tim's face finally registered shock as he spoke, and Bruce could see the gears turning in this bright child's mind. "Surely, you could return him, no?" That was a loaded question, and honestly, Bruce considered until he remembered the kind of hellish state the boy was in.  

"It's not like slaves come with a return policy, Drake." Damiansighed, raising his own eyes to look at Bruce. Tim was the smart one, Jason the one who hadperfectinstincts, and Dick, who had heart. Damian, usually noted to be the one with the most drive, had managed to beat out all three of them, understanding just why Bruce had to keep the boy; had figured the logistics of the boy's survival should he not stay, had seen the way Bruce clung to his ideals of saving an innocent life, had felt the way that this slave had Bruce undone in a mess of sympathy and compassion. "He stays because it's the right thing to do." Damian turned to the others, a small toothy grin on his face before he continued, "Same as it was the right thing to keep us when we showed up in need of a redemption."Everyone stood still, dumbfounded and in silence. "What? You all wanted me to be nicer like Grayson, so-" 

"Yeah, but Dami, you're going soft on us. Even Dick isn't that much of a pu-" Tim started, but Dick cut him off quickly.  

"Shut the hell up and keep making out with your coffee mug there..." Dick all but growled. Next to him Jason giggled and shook his head. 

"Why should he? It's not like his mug is _Superboy_ or anything..." Tim shot a glare and nearly bared his teeth at the jab, and it honestly scared Bruce. Tim, his sweet little Tim. One wrong comment and suddenly the boy was vicious and rabid. As much as Bruce would love to see the younger tear Jason apart for that one, instead, he pushed Tim's still mostly full mug up to his lips and urged him to drink. He did, his eyes not moving away or even softening as he continued to eye Jason angrily. 

Still, not even comments made in poor taste could distract anyone from theprofoundmoment Damian had earned.These moments were far and fewbetween, the rare instance where Damian says something that is beyond logic and reasoning, something that comes from the restraints of his heart. Something, Bruce was sure, he could blame on Dick. Something about Dick made Damian a different person. Bruce taught Damian how to live, but if he was being honest, Bruce knew Dick taught Damian how to love. It was this odd little way that Damian adored the young man who'd become his idol, how he never showed signs of affection, yet still found ways to soften his voice and chose his words wisely. It wasn't a drastic change that Bruce saw in his son, but thesubtlety of Damian growing more gentle in his actions proved to Bruce that the boy now thought in more than black and white; wondered what his actions would do to those around him, to those who cared about him. Because while Damian knew that Batman put the mission first, knew that he was destined to be like his father one day, it was his job as Robin to explore the idea that maybe he was better suited for something more. If Bruce was being completely honest, he'd prefer it that way. Because damn it all to hell, Dick Grayson was perhaps the shining star of his legacy, both of the man and the cowl.  

"Bruce, not that I don't share your opinions, but..." Jason huffed. "Do you even know how to own a slave? Do you know what you're doing?" 

"He's got a point, B." Dick rested his chin on his hand, his fingers curling at his lips. "We've studied about this, there's certain things you can't just simply ignore when it comes to people like that. They've been conditioned to want to survive, and surviving means doing things a certain way." Bruce was getting lost in Dick's words. If there was ever someone to take his title of World's Greatest Detective from him, it's this once gap-toothed scrawny littleAcrobat. "You can't just exactly set him free or whatever, it doesn't work like that." 

"It's called emotional dependency, and Jesus Christ Dick, just fucking say it already." Jason, who didn't have a flare for the dramatic like Dick, preferred to get to the point, seeing that Bruce didn't understand exactly what the older boy was trying to get at."It doesn't take an overpriced textbook and some shoddy campus with no air conditioning to figure that out." Dick hated when Jason did that, make it seem that whatever information Dick had to offer was obvious to everyone in the room, as though it was already understood even. It pissed him off in fact, and he knew he wasn't the only one.  

"Not all of us were exposed to this sort of thing when we were kids, you know." It was a low blow, even for himself. And Dick regretted spitting that insult out, knowing that he had really hurt Jason by the way the younger boy squirmed in his seat, biting his lip to keep from making the whole situation worse by saying something even nastier. But really, if Jason had it his way, he still wouldn't say what he was thinking. Because even though Dick started it, Jason tried to not stoop to a low level like that, because it certainly wouldn't make the situation better and it certainly wouldn't make him feel better too. Better to just let it pass. Chances were, Dick would take it back if he could anyway; Jason knewevery timehe was the one to say something out of line, he wanted to stuff the words right back in his mouth almost instantly. And if Bruce had anything to say on the matter, it would be that the two of them are more alike than they'd be willing to believe. 

"Right. So here's the deal..." Bruce tried to carry on, doing his best to not meddle in the affairs of his oldest boys. He agreed, under the condition that both vigilantes keep their base of operations within Gotham limits, to give them their privacy. It was their way of growing up, and Bruce couldn't deny them that. They never really had a childhood to speak of, and if this was how these misplaced teenagers wanted to reach maturity, then so be it. It meant that they could be their own hero, their own person, and still be safe under Batman's watch. "I need you to look after him for me." 

Now the kitchen came to an absolutestand still. Even Alfred, who had been meddling his way to make another pot of tea, froze where he stood. "Sir, you can't be-" 

"I'm completely serious." Bruce let off. "We need to keep him believing that nothing strange is going on here. That-" 

"He doesn't know you like to dress up as a Bat and run around Gotham'srooftopsat night with a bunch of teenagers?" Damian cooed, giving his father a lopsided smile, Dick's influence over Damian becoming apparent again.  

"A bunch of teenagers dressed up like various birds too..." Tim's voice with dripping with exhaustion. Even tired, Tim was always prepared to make fun of Bruce and Batman alike. 

Bruce sighed. "You're committed." Dick let off. "I'll give you that..." 

"Committedto Arkham sounds more like it." Tim's words lingered and Bruce considered it for a second. Maybe he was absolutely crazy. More crazy than he'd be willing to accept. 

"I'm sorry but..." Jason was nearly choking. "Are you out of god damn Bat Brain?" Bruce nearly nodded, almost agreeing. "You want us to take care of another person under the guise that he's our slave all because you don't want some random kid to find out what's beneath the house?!" 

"Duh, didn't you know, Jay? Five is the magic number of Robins.If he found out, that would mean he'd be number six. Or is it a requirement to have black hair to wear the tunic?" Dick began to drink orange juice that he had managed to steal away from Jason's grip. Bruce contemplatedembarrassingthe two later by reminding them that they were actually sharing a meal.  

"Not a requirement, " Jason started. "I mean, Stephanie is blonde. Though she did turn to the whole Batgirl thing so..." Jason shot Damian a dark smile. "So I guess that means he doesn't fit the requirements..." 

"Good news for you, Demon Spawn." Tim sneered at Damian who actually growled and gripped the counter tighter. One more remark, and everyone was sure that Damian would pounce onTimwithout second thought. The worst part being that there wasn't a thing any of them would do to stop the younger child from attacking him; Drake would have deserved it. Bruce decided years ago to not hold on to Damian's leash so tightlyanymore. As far as he was concerned, every single one of them knew what they were getting in to if they pissed Damian off. Every man for himself.  

"Go be a dick somewhere else, please." 

"Damian." Bruce warned. The youngest didn't pay any attention. Instead, he watched as Tim smiled, a new insult locked and loaded.  

"Hey!" An offended voice sounded from Bruce's first Robin, who looked pleasantly upset. "I take offense to that." 

Tim only smiled and gestured to Dick's presence. "You know what I mean, Drake..." Damian gurgled under his breath. He decided it should be an official rule of the household that the word dick not be used in any circumstance other than to address Bruce Wayne's oldest child and first ward. Too bad allof Damian's siblings decided it was much more fun to make dick jokes with Dick's name. "It's his namesake" Todd would cry out laughing, knowing very well he was the first one to spit the insult out into the open. Everyone had thought it. But Jason Peter Todd had actually said it. It was his legacy, endless penis puns made at Grayson's expense.  

"Can we please stay on track here?" Bruce cried out. He sworesometimes, he was dealing with Goldfish. Goldfish who were distracted by shiny objects ortheir own reflections. "Dick, Jason? I need you two to be on top of this the most. The younger boys will be around to help, but I want you two to look after the boy the most. Can I trust you to do this?" 

And just like that, just like the good Robins they were trained to be, they understood. They agreed. They had a new mission, and despite their open criticism, every single one of themknewBruce had a reason for everything he did.Even if his reasoning wasn't always right. 

When breakfast had cleared, everyone going their respective ways, Dick found himself standing at the mouth of the hallway where the boy resided. He was contemplating a few more steps. Wasn't sure if he'd be happy about this. Didn't know if he could do it honestly. Dick had read about slavery. Had learned all he could about it. He had an infatuation with the custom, a morbid curiosity for it; perhaps it was because if Batman hadn't been there to catch him when his parents died, a market is exactly where Dick would have gone. A boy of his age at the time, nearing ten, far too old to appeal to a family that can afford an adoption but is unable to have a baby of their own, far too set in his personality for anyone's liking. And talented too, flexible, trainedacrobat, graceful... His mother would tell him often that their people often ended up in shackles and that he should consider himself lucky to have someone like Mr. Haly to employ them.  

And if his alternate fate wasn't enough to make Dick shudder, then perhaps it was the concept that just about all of them could be in a similar situation. In their own way, each one of them could suffer just as this boy was suffering. Dick, from a long line of performers and poor, travelingfolk. Jason, a boy who grew up on the streets and evaded capture for the majority of his life. Tim, though wealthy, abandoned by his parents without a cent to his name, blessed with pretty featuresand eternal youth. Damian, who, although would not suffer in the same way, would be a slave in his own right with an arranged marriage and a lifetime of servitude to Talia Al Ghul's madness.Wereit not for Bruce, none of them would be as lucky as they were now. And it suddenly seemed simple to Dick. He would take this boy in, would build a trusting relationship with him, would do for the boy as Bruce had done for him.  

Dick willed himself forward, walked towards the room he knew his new responsibility would be sleeping in. When Dick saw him, he snorted, laughing a bit at the site before him. There he was, a glorious mess of red hair and mascara down his cheek, his toes curled and his knees brought to his chest, his mouth open as he snored a bit lightly. Dick stepped up closer, standing next to the bed, next to the boy who had yet to open his eyes. A boy, Dick noted, whowas no older than he was. 

 Even for how malnourished and neglected he looked, he was still oddly adorable. His nose turned upwards a little, coming to a small point that was tinged pink, his lashes were darker than his hair, which was this lovely toasted red that swept around his face in very subtle waves, his skin looked... smudged? No that couldn't be right, Dick thought, as he leaned in. But sure enough, the flesh tone on the edge of his cheek seemed misplaced and Dick brought his hand up to brush at the skin, pushing a substance away that coated the red head's cheek. What was clearly make up rubbed off easily enough and revealed a small sprinkle of soft freckles. Freckles, and a dark blue tone. He was bruised.  

Hehad learned about this, about how Slavers these days were marking up slaves by covering their surface injuries with heavy makeup, earning a higher price tag in the process. But the idea that this kid was covered in makeup heavy enough to hide those freckles was enough to alarm Dick. Did Bruce see this? Did he notice? He was the greatest detective that lived, right? Surely, if Bruce had known the boy was possibly hurt, he would have told them. Would have made arrangements to take care of it, right? Unless... 

Unless Bruce was too shocked by it all to even notice. That seemedlikely. Not wanting to let it linger any longer, Dick answered his fears by waking the boy up slowly, taking his hand and running it up his arm slowly. "Hey..." Dick called. He hoped the kid wouldn't be terrified of him.  

Slowly, the boy opened his to reveal soft green hues, glassed over and confused as he looked Dick up and down before launching upwards to sit, trying his best to compose himself. "I'm sorry, Master, I did not realize I-" 

"Whoa there, speedyGonzalez..." Dick began to move and follow the boy who was climbing out of the bed, albeit clumsily and almost in a drunken manner. Both hands on the boy's biceps, hestabilizedthe red head who swayed with obvious nausea. He groaned and Dick smiled. "You alright there, kid?" He nodded, and Dick could see that he was doing his best to stand tall. It wasn't working though and Dick eventually caught him, carrying him towards the bathroom. He sat him down on the closed toilet and moved towards the bathtub, turning the water on once he decided thedrowsyteen was stable enough to sit by himself. "Rough night?" Dick looked back at him as he nodded.  

"I feel like I could sleep for days, Master..." Roy didn't quite understand why, when so disoriented and truthfully, confused, he was so not scared by the young man in front of him. Bruce, as kind as he was, was massive in size and had this air about him that demanded reverence. But this one? Roy didn't know who he was, but he wascalming, he was warm and Roy wasn't afraid for the first time in a long time.  

He saw the young man pause though at his words. Freeze even, and Roy wondered if he said something wrong. Maybe he addressedthisMaster too casually. Maybe he had royally screwed up and he was going to be in a world of pain soon, not that his bones didn’t ache already. But then he spoke, "Did anyone give you a small pink pill last night?" Roy could only wordlessly nod. "Knew it." Dick had said underneath his breath.  

Dick wanted to storm out right now and  berade Bruce for his stupid mistake. It wasa dirty trick that Bruce had pulled many times on Tim and Dick both. Sometimes, even Jasonand more frequently as of late, with Cass. It was a simple sleeping medication, to be used as needed. But while they were usually upset with Bruce for the simple fact that he only need ask them, Dick was seething for another reason entirely. And perhaps, yet again, it was another thing he could add to the list of things Bruce didn'tthink aboutamidsthis torrid thoughts of what to do. But without any real knowledge of this boy's medical history, without knowing what substances are in his system, he was given a large dosage of a sleeping medication; a dose large enough that Tim usually only took half, being the size that he was, a full pill enough to knock out even a stubborn Batman. Without knowing it, Bruce could have potentially killed the slave. Dick just counted his lucky stars that he didn't find a dead teenager. Still, the drowsy and heavily medicatedfeeling that the kid must be going through... Dick had been there, after a fit of nightmares that kept him up for nearly a week straight, took a little more than he needed and felt like he had been heavily sedated the night before. Hungover couldn't begin to cover it.  

Noticing the water wasbeginningto fill the tub, Dick moved to scent and soap up the water, letting the faucet run for another minute before turning it off. He turned back as though it was a task to just fill the tub up, putting his hands on his hips and facing the kid who hadn't moved. "Come on, hop on in..." Dick motioned for him to get into the water and Roy did with no hesitation, not a single care that he was exposing himself sofreely to a total stranger. When Roy had lowered himself into the water, he hissed a little, trembling to stay quiet though, as though he'd be punished for experiencing pain; it made Dick wonder if that had happened before and his blood chilled at the idea. Sitting next to the tub and grabbing a nearby cloth, Dick began to scrub away at what now was clearly makeup melting off his body. "Theycakedthis crap on you,JesusChrist..." Dick half laughed when Roy didn't move, just sat as though he was ashamed. 

But Roy wasn't ashamed. He wasn't anything but thankful. The slow ministrations of this young man cleaning him, taking time and care with him every time Roy flinched or made any notion of discomfort, how could Roy not be relieved. The way the warm water washed over his body, the steady breathing of the raven next to him slowlylullinghim back to sleep if he wasn't careful enough. Luckily enough, the young man spoke. "Do you have a name, cutie..." Cutie? Pet names? Who was Roy to complain. As far as he was concerned, the man could call him anything so long as Roy got gentle backrubs like now. Still, cutie worked. If the man found him attractive, Roy would use that as armor,shieldhimself behind that fact and do all he could to keep him pleased. His happiness was Roy's survival.  

"Roy, Master. It's Roy." Beside him, the man smiled.  

"Well, Roy..." Dick began working on Roy's face, wiping away more makeup as the water began to turn murky. "I'm Richard. But uh, everyone calls me Dick." Dick smiled and Roycontinued to lean in to Dick's touch. It was something that made Dick curious to say the least. Perhaps the boy actually enjoyed this? Dick couldn't really process that. He remembered the first time he had been bathed by Bruce (whosimplyinsisted because Dick was now "his" responsibility); even at the tender age of 7, Dick wasn't pleased. He liked privacy. Never made use of it, but none the less enjoyed having it as an option. 

Noticing a large gash that definitely looked worse for wear that painted Roy's skin from the upper half of his right shoulder blade down to the small of his waist, Dick clicked his tongue."They beat you pretty badly." Dick let out a soft chuckle, leaning forward so that Roy could see how light hearted he was about the subject. "Must have done something naughty." To his surprise, Roy nodded in agreement. "Oh. I was only kidding..." Dick let his voice trail off, suddenly feeling like he was talking too much. He always talked too much and the last thing he wanted to do was make this poor boy feel even more uncomfortable than he did.  

Roy leaned forward and rested his chin on his knees that he held close to his chest, wondering just how he should respond. Instead, he sighed and repositioned his head so that he could subtly watch the way the fabric of Dick's shirt swayed. "Forgive me." Roy began. "I'm not used to this," By this, Roy meant kindness. He meant compassion, he meant affection. He said this instead. Because if had said anything else, it would imply that he was not grateful for the people the kept him alive until now. The same people who abused and harmed him also fed and medicated him.  

"You mean you're not used to someone actually giving a shit about you." Dick didn't mean it as a question, he meant it as fact. A fact that was true.  

"Don't think that's the case anymore..." Another voice sounded and Roy's startled yip mixed with the sounds of water splashing everywhere when he jumped. "Sorry..." Roy found another boy, this one perhaps a year or two younger though much broader than Dick. He too had dark hair, but instead ofwind sweptstrands falling into his face, his hair parted in the center, his bangs framing his face instead.  

The boy crouched by the tub, a smug smile on his face as he looked at Roy intently, his teal eyes almost too intense for Roy to handle. "What's your name, gorgeous?" He reached forward, thumbing at Roy's cheek a little and giving him a sweet smile that made Roy blush.Dick could only scowl at Jason who was being overly flirtatious for the sake of running the boy through hoops for the hell of it. 

"Roy." Roy let out quietly. 

"Easy on him, Jay. Not everyone can handle..." Dick moved his hand that was covered in suds from shampoo in Jason's direction, "… all that." 

"Aww." Jason was brushing down to Roy's jaw. "I think he'll be fine. Looks like a tough cookie to me." Jason cooed.  

Roy internally growled. Pet names, affectionate touches, these were all one thing. But the phrase 'tough cookie' mocked him. It offended him. It made him want to show Jason just how tough he was. 

"Careful, Little Wing. This one might bite." Dick warned. Roy wished he could bite. Instead, he kept his gaze low as Dick began to wash what he called "the last of it" off, the warmth of the water giving him goosebumps. When Dick reached over for a towel, he stood up and unfolded it, presenting it to Roy as he nudged his head to the side. "Come on, let's dry you off." 

When Roy stood to stepintothe towel, he noticed that Jason had turned his head to look in the other direction, and it suddenly occurred to him that his lack of modesty was not something Jason shared. Still, Dick wrapped his arms around Roy's shoulders, enclosing the towel and wrapping Roy in a small pocket of warmth that he somehow felt like snuggling in to. He found himself being moved back towards the bedroom to only then be pushed out the door of his little home. A few hallways more and he found himself in another bedroom, this one about three times the size of his own. The walls were painted adeepred, thesheets on the oversized bed were grey and wrinkled, several clothing articles on the floor, a television turned on to some comedy, the curtains drawn to a near close, letting in warm morning sunlight spill into the room. But what really grabbed Roy's attention was a floor to ceiling bookcase that was filled to thebrim with books, a desk right next to it filled with framed photos.  

When Dick led Roy to his own room, he expected to shuffle around awkwardly, doing mindless little tasks while Roy watched him silently, wrapped in nothing but a towel, sitting on the couch in front of an empty fireplace.Instead, he found his fireplace lit, the flames softly roaring and heating the room quickly, a small tray of food that clearly was intended for their new guest on the coffee table, several blankets and some fresh clothing that Dick was sure belonged to him when he was a few years younger. "Huh..." Jason huffed out behind them both. "Alfred must have been two steps ahead of you there..." 

"Isn't he always?" Dick smiled, letting Roy sit in the still damp and warm towel on the small sofa before he grabbed a large comforter nearby and wrapped it around Roy, who only sighed at the further warmth. "You're constantly cold, aren't you." Another statement intended as a question.  

Roy watched while Dick moved around his room, picking up things as he went, turning on the television, opening up the curtains a bit more to reveal more of the cold fall day. It wasn't until he felt the weight of thecushions next to him shift that he even noticed Jason sitting very close to him. He watched Jason reach forward and move the cover that sat on top of the tray, revealing a bowl of some kind of paste like substance with a dull color. "Mmm..." Jason smiled and Roy couldsuddenlysmell why Jason would find that appetizing. It smelled sweet. Luxuries always smelled sweet. "You know..." Jason grabbed the bowl and a spoon right by it, bringing it up towards Roy and handing it to him. "I never thought much of oatmeal either, especially when I was a kid." Roy took the food and the spoon, wondering just what the hell he was going to do with all that food. Surely, eating it all would be the death of him. But god, did he want to.Still, he enjoyed the way the ceramic of the bowl warmed his hands up. "But Alfred makes some damn good oatmeal, even if it looks like mush."Roy still sat there, looking at Jason who onlystarredright back. "Go on, dig in." 

It seemed strange to him, eating like this. Meals were often far and few between, and he often enjoyed what he could in the privacy of his own company, away from eyes that may be watching him. So to have Jason watch over him while he scooped up some of the goop in the spoon felt alien to him. He ate it though, wondering how something so ugly could taste so good, eating bite after bite, nearly humming at how good it felt to eat a full meal like this.  

"Whoa, okay, easy there..." Jason reached out and grabbed the bowl and suddenly Roy felt even more at home than usual. He was used to not getting the full amount, it seemed natural to him to be told to no longer eat. "You're going to make yourself sick there, eating it so fast like that." 

"Oh." Was all Roy could manage.Hehad assumed Jason was stopping him for the sake of stopping him, not out of concern for his health. Which, if Roy had anything to say about, was declining. Where before he would just about beg for warmth, now he found himself over-heating, a sweat covering his body but his fingers ice cold. Nothing new, he mused to himself, Slaves get sick all the time.  

Jason smiled, reaching out for Roy's hair and playing with the length gently. "Trust me, you'll be getting full meals all day here. No use in starving you, right?" He gave Roy a gentle lopsided grin, and continued to touch Roy softly along his cheekbone. "Never understood why they'd do that either. You're much more useful well fed than nearing death of malnutrition." Roy found himself agreeing silently. But just as soon as Jason's smile came, so did it vanish when he stretched his hand up to Roy's forehead. "Dick..." 

A soft "Yeah" sounded as Dick occupied himself with finding a good channel to watch.  

"Dick, he's got a bad fever." Jason's brow furrowed and he continued to actively check Roy's temperature by hand. Roy let Jason's hands rag doll him, pushing him around slightly in his spot, watching as the raven in front of him continued to vividly worry. And while Roy enjoyed having someone care enough that they would grow so concerned over a slight cold, seeing Jason (and now Dick, who had stepped away from channel surfing and was now crouched in front of Roy, also feeling his head for a rise in heat) this concerned made Roy feel guilty almost. He was new to their home, almost a guest even, had been stationed so that he may take care of them, not the other way around. And now, here they were, both of them fretting over Roy's condition and Roy felt helpless to stop them, despite his weak pleas for them not to worry. "You hush..." The words would have been harsh had they not been in the context of care from Jason's lips. And if Roy wasover analyzingit (and he was), perhaps affection was in the mix too. Something he tried to not think about too much.  

"You're definitely sick, little Roy." Dick smiled weakly, moving to grab a small pile of clothing before giving it to Roy directly. "Get dressed and then crawl into bed, you're resting today until we can get you feeling better." 

"I feel fine, Mast-" 

Dick narrowed his eyes without losing his smile. "Not up for debate." Dick turned his gaze to Jason before giving more instructions. "Can you go find Alfred? I want to be sure just what it was Bruce gave the kid last night before doing anything else." 

Jason, who was now standing, rolled his eyes and let out a groan. "He didn't..." 

"He did" Dick confirmed, knowing full well that Jason understood just what kind of implications Bruce's poor choice in medicine had on Roy's health. "Go. I'll take care of him..." 

Roy watched, still on the couch with neatly folded clothing in his blanket-clad arms, as Jason left the room, clearly irritated as Dick was when he first heard about the medicine Roy was given last night. He didn'tunderstandjust why they were so upset, Bruce Wayne had taken it into his own hands what he deemed necessary to keep Roy healthy, no? Roy felt it better to not ask too many questions; it seemed that there was a difference between what Mr. Wayne and Mr. Wayne's wards felt was needed when it came to caring for Roy. The last thing he wanted to do was ignite that fire more by taking a side. Silence would keep him safe.  

"Hey!" Dick called out to Roy, "Come on, get dressed..." Dick let out a half laugh and Roy felt relief; he wasn't in trouble and that's all he cared about. But he still watched timidly, slipping his legs into the soft cotton of the pants he was given, as Dick began scavenging through a drawer in his dresser. Roy pulled a long sleeve shirt over his head, thankful for the way the fabric didn't cling or reveal too much of his body for once. In fact, Roy was sure that if he looked in a mirror, he'd look like a normal person, not an object for purchase. His eyes welled up at the idea, but a small "Aha!" sounded from Dick, snapping Roy from getting too emotional. Dick came over, eyeing Roy up and down. "I'm shocked those fit you. You're so small..." Dick tossed his head to the side, motioning for Roy to come closer to where he was. He did, following instructions as he then was asked to sit on Dick's bed. He climbed up, the frame considerably taller than the small frame that held his own bed, sitting on the edge when Dick held his hand out. Two socks lay in his palm and he smiled. "They're even matching." Roy could hear the odd sense of pride. He took them, placing them on his feet. Dick asked Roy to lay down, but as with most things, Roy didn't move until he was physically pushed to do so, letting Dick's hand against his chest push him back so that he fell on a large pile of pillows.  

Roy knew his own bed felt like heaven. But Dick's bed? There weren't words. But when Dick pulled the blanket up and around Roy's frame, setting him up to be comfortable enough to fall asleep, but upright enough to hold a proper conversation, Roy swore he could die happy then and there; clean, in normal clothing and the comfiest bed he'd ever hope to imagine.  

Jason made his appearance again, this time with Alfred in tow and Roy suddenly felt worse. If worrying these two boys made Roy feel guilty, getting Alfred involved made him feel like dying. At least they wouldn't have to worry about him anymore at that rate. But Alfred was clealy tuned in to Roy's feelings, brushing it off with a sarcastic joke before telling Roy to simply relax and open his mouth. He did, letting Alfred tuck a small glass tube under his tongue before closing it again.  

"Bruce gave him that damn pill last night." Dick chewed off, his casually sweet demeanor turning dark very quickly. Alfred clicked his tongue before looking at Dick.  

"After I advised him not too, I'm sure." Alfred's accent still intrigued Roy. "He should be fine after  some sleep and a hot meal." 

"Hot meal taken care of." Jason piped as though he were proud that he was taking care of his pet.  

"I see as much. Regardless, should he not improve by tonight, I'll send for a proper Doctor." 

"Cause you're not..." Dick rolled his eyes only to earn a glare from Alfred.  

"Keep the boy hydrated and rested until he gets better." Alfred trailed off, ready to leave the room. "And perhaps, continue to socialize with him." 

Dick knew what Alfred meant; Alfred was a firm believer of simple medication and friends as the best remedy for a nasty illness. Whenever Dick came down with a cold or flu, it was always Alfred who forced Bruce to take a night off and stay with Dick. When Jason came along, the two boys would often grow sick together, becoming birds of a feather. When it came to Tim, Bruce always let go of his "No Metas" rule, allowing Kon, Tim's best friend, to visit, his kryptonian blood enough to block out any vicious human virus Tim may have caught. When it came to Damian though, Dick was always called in to save the day. Bruce would just about beg to take care of his small son, but it was Dick that Damian wanted for comfort. Bruce would almost grow jealous, if it wasn't for the fact that he had "His Girls" (which he so fondlyreferredto often), who would call on Bruce for a simple scraped knee just because they knew he would show up. Always. And they loved it. And who was Bruce to complain? Any chance to cuddle and spoil Cassandra was a chance he wouldn't miss. And Stephanie, who was always nearly causing a shortage in Bruce's fuses, was downright a mess when sick, wanting nothing but a warm hand and hot soup. 

Dick suddenly realized that he would be the one to take care of Roy should he ever fall sick again. And with that realization, Dick crawled in next to Roy, slipping his arm under some pillows and curling the boy up to him easily. "You should sleep." 

Roy tried to protest. But the heat from Dick's skin, the way Roy found himself matching his breathing to Dick's heartbeat... his eyelids were getting heavier and heavier, though he clung toconsciousnessas long as he could. Another warm figure behind him, and he felt Jason's hand on his shoulder. "go to sleep, gorgeous. you're safe." The way Jason's words lingered in his ear, the hushed tones of the whispered promise, Roy felt assured that he wouldn't be harmed here. That his two newest Masters would do all they could to keep Roy alive, healthy, safe, unharmed in any way. And that alone was enough to lull Roy to a gentle sleep to the sounds of Dick's slowed breathing and the sensation of Jason playing with his hair.  

"How are we going to keep this up?" Jason whispered when it had been long enough for the redhead between him and Dick to fall asleep.  

"No other way than you'd expect." Dick smiled down at his new friend. "He's one of us now, and we're going to make sure that he stays one of us." 

"You heard Bruce though..." Jason started, but Dick cut him off.  

"Bruce can kiss my ass. If he's to not be included, then fine. But he'll live here just as freely as we do. It'll just take some time." Dick leaned in and found himself brushing his lips against Roy's forehead. He was determined to make sure that this boy, who was nothing but timid and sweet, would know what life really was like, and not as a slave.  

"Whatever you say, Dickie..." Jason cooed, leaning in to the heat that was Roy's sleeping form.   

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is un-edited at this point. I've been struggling with this, trying to keep it short and simple, but I have a problem; I adore these three like no other, so naturally, I want all the cuteness and fluffiness with a mild touch and angst... and cuddles... yes lots of cuddles...

**Author's Note:**

> So, as you can tell, Roy is now living with dear ol' Brucie. But I wanted to give a head's up of what's to come for future chapters.
> 
> As far as romantic pairings go, Roy will not be romantically (or sexually, for that matter) involved with Bruce, or Tim/Damian. The reason being? Roy is around the same age as Dick and Jason, two boys whom Bruce considers as sons. Tim has other interests and is a bit young for Roy and Damian is a child. No child porn here folks. As for Jason and Dick? Well, you'll just have to find out ;)
> 
> Also, I promise to be nice to little speedy here. I love Roy, and with all that he's gone through canonically, I won't put him through too much here (my heart can't handle it!). So if you're worried about explicit abuse, etc, you're safe here.
> 
> UPDATE: So, i've been really struggling with how I wanted the second chapter to go (as it's crucial, we'll see Roy meet some Bat Boys), but as such, there were a few things I needed to change a bit. For one, I wanted a bit of a trust issue / redemption arc to go on, but it's hard to improve much when you haven't hit rock bottom. So I sort of embellished Roy's history with abusive behavior as a slave a bit. I've also made Bruce a bit more short with Roy, wanting it to be very clear that Roy is in his station for a reason and that Bruce is still his Master. Chapter 2 coming soon! I promise! Life has been hell, sorry about that.


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